Okay. 1. Sorry. 2. Thanks to: Cookie05, Invader Kiwi, ThatOneGingerKid, Truth's Apprentice, andy-chan24, Cheshire Cat 197, K0ri-chan, The Ignored Criminal, TwoSidesOfACrazyCoin, takuya, CiCiTheAwesome, RandomHetaku, dawnfire216, CactusNoir, Fi Suki Saki, Jazzcat1231, CandleSlytherin, SillyKwado, lidh, cocoblue181, Akakata7, The Dangerous One, and Kirazu Haruka. Honestly, you guys make writing worth it. Moving quickly along...
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Sherlock and John were waiting for them when they arrived. Sherlock appeared to be pacing, seemingly lost deep in thought, while John raised a hand and gave them a short wave. Arthur, for his part, waved back, before turning around to give one last warning to behave to-
"Oh bloody hell where is everyone?!" Arthur raked his eyes around the London backdrop. John walked up to Arthur just as he spotted Francis buying a rose off a street vendor, consequently ending up screaming a string of unintelligible (what John assumed were) profanities in the Frenchman's general direction. Said Frenchman took it all rather well, smiling airily and managing to blow a kiss at Arthur and wink at some passing tourists at the same time.
"Hey Artie-" "I told you not to call me that!" "-are we there yet?" Alfred, who'd wandered back on John's other side in the meantime, appeared to have raided a street vendor. He munched cheerily on a churro as Arthur gave him a withering glare.
"Alfred where's your-"
"I'm here, Arthur," said a soft voice. Arthur turned around a bit, then, making up his mind, nodded once.
"Yes, right." Then he turned to John. "Mr. Watson, are you and Mr. Holmes ready? I think I have everyone in my group now, as they all insisted on coming..."
John nodded. "Yessir, we're ready." Have been for an hour, too, thanks to Sherlock... he thought. He motioned for Arthur and the other three men to follow him to where Sherlock was flagging a cab. Out loud, he added, "Inspector Lestrade was in charge of the investigation up till now, but since the crash happened in a somewhat trafficated zone, he had to move it. He's assured us plenty of pictures have been taken, but Sherlock's already in quite a mood, blaming it all on Anderson..."
Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow. "On whom?"
"Anderson. Works for Lestrade. He and Sherlock go way back, apparently, and not in the friendly way either." John made a flippant motion with his hand. "In any case, they detest each other."
"I see," said Arthur, who cast a gaze behind him to make sure that all members of his party were indeed with him. He was mildly surprised to find that they were, in fact, all there, even Matthew. (To be honest, though, he was more surprised that he'd actually been able to tell where Matthew was than that he was there...).
As they approached the now two waiting cabs, Sherlock gave Arthur a look and slightly inclined his head. Arthur took that as a greeting, and returned it in kind, before being manhandled into a cab by a wall of churro'd exuberance.
Francis gave directions to the cabbie to follow the previous cab, leaving an irritated Arthur to brush sugar crumbs off his jacket. Alfred was talking, as per usual, and Arthur was also ignoring him, as per usual, while trying to avoid air kisses sent over from Francis.
This is going to be a long ride, thought Arthur, already mourning his sanity. The little fairy who'd accompanied him grimaced in sympathy.
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John peered curiously at the man seated next to him. Or, rather, John peered curiously at the fluffy object in the man's arms.
"It's a polar bear," he offered, meeting John's gaze. "His name is Kumaji- ...Kumoji-" he furrowed his brow. "Kumomichi! His name is Kumomichi." John gave him a wan smile, trying to find something else to focus on. It was, oddly, Sherlock who broke the awkward silence.
"You're from Canada. You are familiar with Kirkland to the point of having a familial demeanour around him and the others, yet you have a different surname. Furthermore, adoption from one of them is ruled out because of the nearness in age."
A statement, John noted. He wants to ask...
"Eh? Oh, uh, yeah. I guess you could say that Franc-is and Arthur are kind of like me and Alfred's older siblings. They uh, helped raise us. When we were younger. Extended family kind of thing," Matthew said softly. Sherlock sniffed.
As the cab lapsed into silence once again, John was supremely grateful when he was the yellow police tape in the distance.
"They've gone and done it again, John." John turned his head to look at Sherlock, confused, Matthew imitating his actions. Seeing both of their confused expressions, Sherlock made a face. "The tape, John. It's smaller in width than it should be if it was blocking off an area the size of the crash pictured in the paper. They've moved it, the idiots." Sherlock's words turned into a faint mumble, and John swore he heard 'it's probably Anderson's fault'.
"As close as you can get," John called to the cabbie, waiting as the car pulled up even closer to the yellow tape. When it stopped moving, all three passengers disembarked, leaving John to pay. Matthew did, however, turn back a few minutes later and apologize, handing John a couple of pounds.
"Lestrade! The scene! Where did you move it!" John sighed.
"Is he always this blunt?" Matthew asked John out of the corner of his mouth. John nodded, a resigned set to his shoulders.
"Yes, he is, for better or for worse." Matthew looked on thoughtfully at that.
"Fucking Frogface can't you just-"
"It's your fault for raising such an annoying-"
"Hey hey Artie when do you think we can go see Big Ben, huh?" As John looked on to the three men who'd just noisily emerged from the cab, he was able to catch the bemused glance of one Mr. Bonnefoy and the horrified expression of Arthur. Alfred, for his part, seemed rather content with his last statement.
"Never, you bloody fucking twat!" With that, Arthur stormed off to where Sherlock was engaged in a discussion with Lestrade. Seeing it beginning to heat up, John walked over.
"Sherlock we had to make room for the traffic. We've got an entire city to keep smoothly moving here, one single car crash can't be allowed to throw everything off! Oh, hello, Dr. Watson."
"Inspector," John said, tipping his head.
"Yes yes whatever makes you feel happiest. The pictures, Lestrade. If you've moved everything I need the pictures at least!"
"Yes yes alright just give me a second!" Lestrade huffed, storming over to the police car parked directly behind the yellow tape, and pulled out a high-resolution camera, handing it silently to Sherlock. Sherlock got right to work examining the pictures, while John looked at the collected rubble. Behind him, he could hear the voices of Francis, Alfred, and what he thought was Matthew, all talking about one thing or another. Arthur, in the meantime, had walkd over to look at the crash site along with John.
"You know," said John. "This looks almost more of an explosion than a car crash." Arthur looked at him, bushy eyebrows raised.
"You think so? Frankly, I don't remember too much after it hit me. Instant d- er, head trauma."
John nodded. "In Afghanistan, whenever we'd get an IED, the wreckage always looked similar. A- a bit more spread out, of course, but..." John knelt down, reaching under the tape to pick up a small clump of shrapnel. "...we'd get small clumps like this, a lot. From the car's inner workings, little gears and stuff-"
"Wrong." Sherlock stood behind John, hand outstretched.
"What do you mean, 'wrong'? I think I know what a damn IED explosion looked li-"
"No, you're wrong. Those gears don't belong to a car. Let me see them, John. Please." Mute, John stood up and placed the gears in Sherlock's hand, the latter of which began immediately to inspect them, flipping out a magnifying glass and finally turning to his phone for a quick Internet search.
John turned helplessly to Arthur, whose still-raised eyebrows voiced a question. John only shrugged helplessly in return. He had, after all, had practice in going along with Sherlock's crazy schemes.
"These are Swiss gears, just as I thought, but not the kind that can be found just anywhere. They come from a very specific brand, only ever made by hand in Switzerland. Can be utilized in anything from clocks to-" Sherlock glanced at the wreckage "-fine kinetic machinery, but the mystery lies, of course, in the fact that these are here, in England, while I know for a fact that they can only be acquired in a certain store in Geneva." Sherlock furrowed his brow.
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Lestrade, returning from putting the camera back into the police car.
"...do we need to visit Switzerland? I have ah... contacts there, if that's the case..." Arthur offered. Francis and Alfred wandered over, Matthew trailing quietly behind with Kumakichi hugged tightly to his chest.
"Oh? Are you talking about Vash? I think it's high time we pay him a visit, non?" Francis said, setting an arm on Arthur's shoulder and making the Englishman look like he was about to burst.
"When's the soonest you can contact him?" Sherlock asked.
"I have an... open invitation to his house," answered Arthur.
"Wonderful. Where do I book tickets to?"
"I-"
"Hey Artie are we going to Switzerland? 'Cause we can totally use my jet, you know," Alfred said, seeming excited.
"Excellent now off we go!" Sherlock said before anyone had time to protest. Alfred quickly took the lead, flagging down another cab and talking excitedly to a disinterested Sherlock.
John let Sherlock's words sink in for a moment. "Wait a minute. Wait a damn minute now, who said I was going to Switzerland on some private jet?!" John turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"You best accompany him, Watson. You know how he gets..." Lestrade's face was barely concealing a grin. "And good luck. I dare say you'll need it."
John watched, defeated, as Lestrade walked back to the police car and got in, letting Donovan, whom John hadn't previously noticed, drive him away.
"Monsieur Watson! We are leaving, you should hurry!" Francis called to him from the cab. John ran, jumping inside just as the cabbie set the car in drive. Sitting in shock for a couple of seconds, letting the French conversation wash over him, he eventually whipped out his phone.
Your brother is mad. Also, we're going to Switzerland on Alfred Jones' private jet. -JW
Hoping, in the back of his mind, that Mycroft would do something, John closed his eyes and leaned back onto the seat as the cabbie drove them to the airfield.
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oh gods hi. This is so completely unedited and I apologize... and I can only extend my profuse apologies once again... I'm so, SO SORRY for putting this off almost five months *hides face in shame* i had such issues with this chapter... ON A BRIGHTER NOTE HOWEVER during those four-almost-five months, i actually ended up planning out the entire fic, as well as getting rid of most of my school load (finals are coming up soon, though... ugh). anyways basically that means more writing time for me :D
Other assorted notes about the fic: the reason Arthur says "bloody hell" in the beginning is because Ron Weasley. Also I googled English street food places and kimchi came up? I ended up going with the churros because... well, THAT's a secret ;) as for the rose vendor, I'm kinda hoping that's as common in London as it is in Rome... *heddesks* so many issues please let that slide? Maybe? Until next time?
Also I have a lot of headcanons regarding nations and air travel, please feel free to PM or request a reply to a review if there's something you're wondering ^^
Before this A/N gets too long, I love you guys, bye!~ (p.s. keep them reviews comin' ^^)
